The Prince of Egypt
by Cy.ra.no.Lee
Summary: Lee has never owned a beautiful thing in his life. *Content Warning* Sexual scenes, violence, mention of past trauma.
1. Chapter 1

A tentative reentry into this world.

* * *

An irksome day at best, Gaara could say.

Which was better than most, seeing as no one was dead. Gaara's sovereignty had been marked by plagues of fear and desperation. And Gaara made no moves to change people's ideas about him, because mostly, it was the idea of the man who'd sired him. He wanted his rule to be an iron one, and Gaara had nothing that interested him enough to change that.

All he ever did was read and research, and because the Pharaoh didn't get in the way of that, Gaara didn't cause problems, either.

Not saying that he never had.

There was one and only one time during which he'd been required to kill a man, and he'd secluded himself ever since. He barely interacted with other humans, as a matter of fact, and that was the way everyone liked it.

So he was wondering, when he walked into the master suite in his relaxation wing of his center household on _his _compound-...

Why there was someone else in his room?

Why there was someone else, wearing his valuables, half naked, in _his room!?_

He narrowed his eyes and put down his books, and began walking forward slowly. The big eyed idiot who he'd currently targeted was staring- likely in fear, unmoving. Gaara was going to kill him.

"A god," was the first thing the idiot said. It gave Gaara only a moment of pause.

"What are you doing in here," he growled.

"I-I-I... I am your new servant. I am here to... please you."

Gaara had to pause once more, and then his face twisted up into a nasty, hungry scowl. He said, "You're about the farthest thing from _pleasing me. _Take off my finery, heathen."

At least he didn't have to be told twice. The young servant jumped to comply, quickly sliding the intricately woven pieces of silver and lapis lazuli off of his head and shoulders. He pulled the fine silver rings from his ears and his fingers, and laid it all gently on the bed, neatly arranged. He scrambled off the bed, the sheets of which were- for once- rumpled. He then knelt awkwardly, eyes still widely following Gaara.

Momentarily distracted from the infidel aggravating him, Gaara went to inspect. He feared picking the jewelry up, knowing that the slave had just donned them. Yet, he realized with a scowl, they were too important to him to let anyone else clean them of the servants filth.

"You," he hissed. The dark haired heathen took that as an invitation to say everything that was on his mind.

"I-I-I-I- Had I known I would be sold to a God, I would have m-made myself more presentable. I have only bathed in a natural spring, and not holy waters. Perhaps donned something more modest..."

Gaara paused, slightly intrigued by the slave's manners. Still, he was enraged enough to want him dead. He knew he was making a murderous face, one that sometimes stood there when he was making his most important decisions. It had given his father a dominion over Egypt that no Pharaoh had faced before. His counsel made no special moves to manipulate him even when they should.

The commoners who dared think of revolt were swayed by the all powerful chess piece Gaara was.

"Maybe you will show me modesty in death," he said slowly, his voice uninflected and icy. The slave looked less alarmed than Gaara would have liked, though the widening of his big, black eyes was rather pleasing.

He would like that look frozen on his face in death.

"No! I-I-I mean," the slave sat up straighter, and squared his jaw, looking Gaara in the eye for the first time, "I am yours, to play with or kill as you please. But I implore you not to kill me until I have proven I will be of more use to you as a living being."

Gaara looked at the slave, who looked back, not defiantly, nor the way a sniveling cheat might. It surprised the prince into being, for lack of better term, impressed. Why would he want to impress Gaara? Even knowing he was next in line to become a god, there was no doubt it was through power and fear mongering.

Why would someone want to impress a demon? Gaara narrowed his eyes.

"Stand up," he said viciously, and the slave complied, quickly, without fumbling. He immediately glued his eyes to Gaara's feet. The prince noticed for the first time many things about the slave. Though his skin was clear and soft seeming- as though he bore womanly habits with lotions and perfumes- his shoulders were broad, and his muscles were pronounced. Even the shine of the infinite little scars he had spread across his torso and upper shoulders seemed dulled. The top he wore was merely a silk vest, so Gaara could peer at him and find he seemed like a sportsman.

"Make yourself useful," he said, leaving the statement open to interpretation. The servant stood still for only a moment, then swung himself forward and reached into a bag Gaara had not noticed before. He stood guardedly beside the post on his bed.

The slave pulled out heavy white wraps, rolled tightly and neatly. He wrapped his forearms and hands in them, right down to his fingertips. Then slowly, as if approaching a wild desert beast, he moved towards the bed- to Gaara's most prized possessions. He did not like the way that made him feel. Fire coiled in the pit of his stomach while his shoulders chilled.

"Heel, slave," Gaara demanded. The man did stop, but he did not back away.

"I was trained to polish and clean silver by one of my former masters. I will undo the mistake my unworthy hands have done, and make no err in touching these things with my bare hands again," said the slave to Gaara's feet. He held up his hands, his long fingers arching towards himself. Gaara stand tense, but made no move in protest when Lee approached again. He did so slowly, and carefully collected the rings into his hands first. He wrapped them in the fine pillowcase, made of Chinese silk they'd imported from the southernmost coast.

Gaara had been, in some manner, pleased to receive that as a gift (offering) after successful negotiations with the Yunnan province. He didn't sleep on it, of course, but that was unimportant. Gaara liked to have expensive and beautiful things his life. It wasn't unreasonable. He _was _sovereign prince_ of all Egypt, _next in line to take the throne. He never thought, even with his title, his fine silk pillow sheet would be used as a sack to transport his fine silver to-...

"Where are you going," he asked, much before he processed that it was a useless question. This man had already admitted to being Gaara's possession. He could follow him where he pleased.

"I have found," said the slave as he continued out of the doors, "that silver polishing goes best in the kitchen, my liege."

Gaara, who was not a commoner, had never read anything about silver polishing, was once again intrigued. The slave seemed unsure of whether to lead or to follow. Gaara, who had not one shred of pity in his heart for him- he barely _had _the physical manifestation of a heart- stepped around him and lead a relaxed pace down the grand hall. The slave followed silently.

In the kitchen, the man took the wooden bowl he found by the sink and carefully placed each ornament in it. He rambled around the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling bottles from them. At least he showed reluctance and caution whilst doing so, knowing the man who'd kill him was still there. Gaara still might, too. It was still his first option. He just wanted his silver polished, as was promised, and then he'd have no use for him.

Gaara never had any use for another person. Whomever had put it in his room would pay dearly. Probably Temari. She could use a lesson...

From the ingredients he found, the slave made an odd sort of paste. He scrubbed the silver with it in a way that made Gaara's body do those strange things again. His urge to know whether his silver would look well polished overrode them. The man placed them on the table and grabbed a soft sponge from the rack.

Gaara was glad he did not cook in that kitchen, nor that he allowed any of the palace servants in his kitchen. He would be enraged should he see the slave wiping away the paste with a sponge used for dishes. He dipped the sponge in the bowl, which he had filled with something Gaara highly suspected was lemon juice.

He gave the fine jewels and precious metals one more wipe before pulling from the sack silver polish. Gaara had not even remembered him stowing them in there. He supposed that those long fingered hands were the smuggling type.

Gaara watched this slave work, meticulously and without distraction. His face was set hard, cheekbones sharp beneath his focused eyes. He wore a frown of concentration, Gaara could see from where he stood.

He was so focused on watching the taller man that he did not notice when he finished cleaning. He jolted as the man turned and knelt at his feet, using the pillowcase as a platform to present the now shining jewelry.

Gaara was astonished. Her least favorite jewelry, he'd been told as a child. His mother's least favorite jewelry, worn down and scratched, always seeming to cause her misfortune. The only thing of her he'd been allowed to have.

And now, here it was, sparkling before him like it had been scrubbed clean of those lies. He could imagine it. His mother's golden skin, shimmering under these well worn silver plates. Sparkling like the Nile under the hottest of suns, yet never breaking a bead of sweat. Her smile.

Gaara felt something underneath his heart but above his stomach seize. He needed to move, do something, maybe sit down- but all he could do was stare.

"My liege," the slave's clear cut voice pulled him from what might have been a fatal stupor. Gaara had no doubt he'd stopped breathing. Was that why it hurt him so?

"Do not move," he said in a breathless tone that he didn't like on himself. He turned from the room, quickly making his way back to his room. A lesser being would have been scurrying, but Gaara did nothing less than glide to and from his room and back to the kitchen.

He opened the ornate jewelry box his sister had gotten him on his fifteenth birthday, in the hopes that he might spare her life or something. At times, he was glad he had. He still needed interactions with someone who wasn't a conniving, murdering counsel member.

Other times, he wanted to crush her bones and use her blood as dye for his sand. He supposed that relatives did tend to make you feel that.

Once his precious possessions were safely ensconced, he peered down at the slave. The black haired man only looked down, as if humbled to be in Gaara's presence. The sovereign supposed he was.

"... It was, admittedly, a useful skill that you learned to possess," said Gaara, not actually going so far as to thank the slave. The stern, austere, focused man picked up his head, but let his eyes go no further than Gaara's chest. The smile that bloomed from him was, too, astonishing as the gleam of the silver jewelry.

He seemed to happy to have been not really praised, and Gaara felt odd. He second guessed, wondered if he should compliment the man flat out. It was something he never did- neither option. It made him confused enough to say, "Should you prove to have more fine skills than that, I may yet find you more useful in life than death."

The man's already wide, dark eyes grew two sizes again, and Gaara was again reminded how much the sight pleased him. He was unsure why it did so when the same thought was not connected with death, but it was an easily dismissed notion. The man's head touched the floor.

"Yes, my liege," he said, muffled by the marble tiles, "I shall do my best not to disappoint you!"

Gaara knew he couldn't see this action, but he nodded his head and turned back to his room. It was evening now, and though he wouldn't sleep very much, he would retire to his room as was his nightly routine. His father liked to force him to join his midnight war meetings. Mostly to remind the generals who their King (or Queen, if one were to look at the specifics of the game) piece was.

Never mind that they were not actually at war with anyone.

The best way to avoid a fight was to avoid it. Besides which, no one would dare go to his compound after dark. Not even his siblings.

He slipped into his room and closed the door, fully prepared to strip to something more casual. He hadn't heard the slave follow. He was pulling off his outer robes, prepared to hang them up when another set of hands slipped them from his grasp.

Without thinking, Gaara whipped around, sand peaks raising and sharpening into pikes and claw fingered hands gathering to protect him. The slave stood grasping the cloth with pale knuckles.

Yet still, his wide, terrified eyes did not ascend past Gaara's midsection. It made him pause, the sand stilling with his afterthought.

"What are you doing," he growled. The slave folded his robe as he fluidly got down on his knees. He made sure it did not touch the floor.

"As a servant, I am trained to assist you dress and undress," he replies, fingers shaking on the cloth but big eyes steady. Gaara felt something between anger and the inability to move collide in him at the same time. He didn't understand it.

"I undress myself," he said angrily, "and _slaves_ sleep _outside_ the compound."

Satisfaction and something much less pleasing curled up in him at the same time as he watched the man flinch. His terrified face solidified back into that angry pout he'd worn in the kitchen. The man replied, "Pardon me for speaking out of turn, my liege, but I will not sleep outside of the compound."

"And why not."

It was supposed to be inflected as a question, but he had no patience now. Gaara's temperature was going from hot to very cold very fast. It would be such a shame to have to kill this man now after he'd done him a favor.

"You are a god... yet somehow have not been served your rightful place. The others do not understand the importance of serving a master like yourself. So I shall do my job as your servant. I shall not leave your side," the slave said resolutely.

"I can undress myself," he repeated, that angry, motionless feeling growing as he did. The kneeling man's solid face grew more austere. He still did not move.

"I understand, my liege... but you should not have to," he said. Slowly he turned and placed the folded garment across the Prince's chaise. He reached forward, through the sand, his hands now steady. His long fingers slid across Gaara's ankles, undoing the clasps at the cuff of his pants. He lifted them.

His fingers were gentle where they untied his sandals. Still, Gaara did not like the way his wrist brushed against his ankle. It sent shivers straight down his spine and jolts up his legs. The feelings met behind his navel and squeezed, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Don't," he snapped, and the man's fingers flinched away far enough to let Gaara step away. He did not. After a minute or so, the slave reached again, undoing his sandals and pulling them off. He did so with the other cuff and sandal. He did not touch Gaara again.

Gaara had never been treated this gently. It confused his already overworked brain. He focused on what the slave had said- he was a god. And gods should have not only what they needed, but what they desired. Hadn't all the things he'd done deserve praise and worship?

Surely not all, but he had been an obedient and scholarly son. That, at least, deserved something.

The slave pulled himself up and undid the buttons on his trousers. His ministrations were calm and collected. He folded each piece of clothing as he removed them. Gaara's trousers, vest, and robe all lie atop one another, neatly. Eventually, the man got to the buttons of Gaara's cream colored shirt. Slowly he undid them, one by one. When Gaara's chest was bare, he slipped around him and slid the fabric from his shoulders.

He was so gentle that Gaara felt he was in a daze. He'd even stepped out of his trousers as if some ghost were removing them for him.. The man's eyes never left his work. He never even dared glance at Gaara's face. Just as well, all the men and women who served the royal court knew that rule. Never to look directly upon a member of the royal family. But everyone knew they peeked from once in awhile. It couldn't be helped, since they were servants who had millions of things to do and remember.

Gaara guessed there was not one person who could follow that rule as well as this man.

"Is there a gown you prefer to wear this evening," the slave's soft voice jolted him up. He looked around.

"In the chifferobe there, second drawer down," he said slowly. The man went, pulled out the soft navy trousers and a wrap around shirt that Gaara liked to lounge in. He led himself back to Gaara and dressed him with the same care and slowness with which he'd undressed him.

"Where shall I take these to be laundered," asked the man. Gaara felt himself drift down onto the chaise where the clothes had been. He tipped his head toward the wall and replied, "Basket."

Though he wasn't tired, his head lolled. Everything seemed dull and soft, like he was lying in the fields of cotton and papyrus. He had been prepared to read, but maybe he would do it later...

* * *

I will do my best to post this quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

With a jolt, Gaara sat up. Though it was cold, sweat pooled on his forehead and under his arms. A thick blanket lie across his lap, pooled there from what he was assuming was his squirming. By his side his slave knelt. When Gaara moved he turned his head and said, "Good Morning, my liege. Shall I help you prepare for the day?"

Gaara did not answer him. The first thing he noticed was that the slave was not wearing the short , sleeveless vest from yesterday. Nor were his trousers the same. Instead he wore lined clothes, long sleeved, and in all dark green. Appropriate for to chill of the night. Gaara turned his head and noticed that the bag the slave had kept in his room has been removed.

He also noticed, that his room was unnervingly clean, though he knew it should not be. And the proof was the peak of sand that sat neatly swept by the window.

"What did you do to me," he growled. The man glanced at the small sand dune in confusion.

"My liege?"

"I do not sleep, slave. Clearly you have brought some trick to me to render me unconscious," he said. The slave turned and bowed his head, placing his palms down flat.

"It was not I... Pardon my frank manner of speaking, my liege, but surely your body knew you needed the rest! Far be it from me to force you to sleep, but rest is required so that you may live your day to the fullest," said the man. Gaara stared ominously down at him. He hoped the slave could feel his disdain, even though he could not see it.

"Are you assuming that my days are not full," Gaara asked. The slave's fingers trembled for a moment.

"They absolutely must be, as a god of all Egypt ...but surely you can have no true peace of mind when your servants do not serve you, and your eyes never close for rest, my liege."

"... What you are saying... Is that you had seen those things in me and used a trick to force me..?"

Gaara felt the same sickness he had when he'd tried an odd new fish from the east rise in his stomach. The slave shook his head wildly. For the first time on the dark of the room, Gaara's sharp eyes caught the shine of a fresh bruise on his cheek. His eyes caught and held its shine, even as it was hidden by the slave's glossy black hair.

"Never, my liege! I-I would never force you to sleep, but should you succumb to it, I would not wake you. My true intention is only to have you rest as you deserve, so that the brightness of your day is not hindered by fatigue!"

"Your face... Show it to me," he commanded, distracted from the man's pleas. The man paused, as if unsure whether it were a good idea. Then he lifted his head, eyes descending as he did.

Across his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his eyes, was a black, swollen bruise. His lip was cut where the bruise ended. Gaara sat silently staring at him, feeling something quiet drift into his head.

"Where did you get that?"

If he'd forced Gaara to sleep, then he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for. It served him right. Yet it was obvious that he hadn't been prepared for what Gaara himself was always fighting. Had he known? Even if he had known, how had he survived the beast?

"I-I... I have met my other master..."

"You are _mine_. Not his," Gaara said suddenly. He lunged forward, knowing he hated to have his personal space invaded. Yet, on this he needed emphasis to his point. Anger seared him like a brand, and he'd spoken before he'd thought twice.

"M-my liege?"

"You will only do as I say..! I am the master of my body, and you will serve only me," he snapped. The slave bowed his head, and his hair grazed Gaara's chin. It was feather light, like it'd been plucked from a bird and replaced onto him.

"As you wish, my liege. Shall I help you prepare for the day?"

"No. You've done enough. I will not be tricked again," he replied. He leaned back, rubbing his eyes. He also disliked the groggy feeling sleep gave him. The man made a distressed noise in the back of his throat.

"Please, my liege," he practically cried, "What use am I to you if I cannot serve you?"

"I have no use for a slave nor servant. Especially not one who uses tricks-"

"It was no trick," the man practically shouted, "Please pardon me for speaking out of turn. But I did not trick you. What I have shown you is not trickery but care and..."

"Finish, slave. Care and what," asked Gaara. Surely, after only what had been an hour at most could not give him care. The slave shook his head.

"Care... And affection."

"Have a care for what you say," said Gaara angrily.

"I speak no lies. When I was bought for you, my liege, I was informed that you were in need of care that exceeded all else. And I have seen it. I understand. You have not received what I can give you."

"_I _am sovereign prince of Egypt. I am a demon with power feared by all. Are you saying what I have is not enough? Do you judge me," asked Gaara. The quiet thing in his head had grown and shoved it's way down into his throat. His chest ached. He didn't understand. Why did the words of a mere slave make him feel this way?

"Not you whom I judge. Those around you. So lacking were you of the care that I gave you, that you put all your fatigue into my hands as I replaced your clothes, and let yourself rest. Be it me or any other man or woman, you still had not received it, and so would have succumbed to it."

Gaara stood, stepping around the slave. He didn't usually give into anxieties but now he felt the need to pace. With every word, his throat grew with that weight.

"Indeed, you have all you could ever want. This illusion has fooled those around you into believing you have all you need. Please, my liege. Let me serve and care for you," said the slave. At the request, the lump in Gaara's throat loosened. Maybe... He always had done the same thing.

He did not like the pain and emotions he'd suffered in the past. His days were static, his relationships well kept. But maybe that was where he'd been wrong? Had he missed something? If the man hadn't tricked him into sleep (he'd watched him the entire time, hadn't touched anything the slave had, except the clothes, and Gaara knew epidermal sleep poisons were virtually non existent) then what he'd said was at least part right.

The slave had something Gaara had never experienced. Something that had let him sleep, without killing anyone. And who was he if he had not experienced everything life had to offer? Surely not a Pharaoh coming.

"... Stand, Slave... and begin preparations for my bath."

The man scrambled up, moving almost fluidly to the dresser from whence he'd pulled Gaara's nightclothes. From it, he pulled pants and a new shirt- this one a soft shade of seafoam.

"Please rest a while longer, my liege, I shall return shortly," the black haired man said. He zipped out of the room and across the hall. Gaara removed his sand skin, hiding the remnants in the already collected pile by the window. Already feeling uncomfortable, Gaara paced until he returned.

In his hand was the long white robe Gaara had been given to wear when he wanted to lounge in the sauna at night. He never did, mind you. At this moment, however, the man had found a good use for it. He place it on Gaara's shoulders so that the chill of the hall did not bother him as he walked to his bathroom.

Gaara liked his bathroom a lot even though he barely spent time in it. He had been lucky (or feared) enough to get a bathroom which faced the sunrise to the east. Since he usually was up before the sunrise, he could see the vast expanse of stars from his window wall. Morning was unparalleled in there.

But most mornings Gaara was ashamed to admit, he only showered before leaving for the day. It was too much of a hassle to fill the tub with hot water and keep it hot, and then clean it afterwards. Thinking on it, he could have had one of the housekeepers do it for him. He wanted to maintain the beauty of his bathroom.

It was a combination of the very old and the new. Stainless steel fixtures gleamed under the starlight, even through the thick, hot mist of the room. The pearlescent stones at the bottom of the sunken tub glimmered, adding an ethereal blue shine to the water. Gaara could see the sun's first rays on the horizon. The black haired man had lit some candles for visibility, but it was a perfect contrast to the natural blue light.

Gaara did indeed believe that this was how it was meant to be used.

The slave stepped around him and began to undress him. Gaara was wary when he did so this time, but nothing overcame him when he stepped out of his clothes. Except...

"Shall I bare myself before you as well," asked Gaara. The man closed his eyes and replied, "Should you decide to keep me and use me, I shall be your servant for the rest of my natural life. I will see things that you did not know you did not want me to see."

Carefully the man removed his pants. Gaara felt his face heat, but the man gave no hint that he was uncomfortable. Obviously on a roll, he started the shower and set Gaara's water seat down beneath it. He waited. Gaara noticed where his sleeves had been rolled up, a bright, purple and blue bruise crossed up his wrist to his forearm. Gaara chose to ignore it.

Rather obediently in his own opinion, Gaara sat in the seat. The man poured something warm across his back and began rubbing him gently with a brush. He worked methodically, from his shoulders to his hips. He commanded the prince to lift his arms, and he washed them, too. Gaara was washed to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Everything but his hair was washed. The slave said, "Unfortunately, you must wash your own hair, as I have no way to do so without touching you."

Gaara agreed, but a small part of him wondered what would happen if the servant touched his hair. Probably, nothing good, he decided, as he stepped into the shower to rinse himself off. The slave stood at the side of the tub while he got in, and then bowed.

"Please excuse me, my liege. I must fetch your garments for the day. Shall I also prepare breakfast," asked the man. Gaara shook his head, some still wet strands of hair loosing themselves from his skin and curling up.

"No. I eat breakfast in the grand hall with my father, as is necessary. After which, I will be attending my studies, as well as a multitude of other tasks. I will not return until this evening," he replied, sliding further into the water from his seat. The pebbles bottom felt good on his feet.

"Understood... and I thank you, my liege."

"For what do you have to thank me," Gaara asked, peering out of the sparkling water. Even through the mist, the prince could see the man smiling down at the marble tiled floor.

"You have filled me in on your schedule. It shall make my assistance to you all the more easy," said the man. Gaara scowled, not understanding why this meaningless thing could make a man so far below him so pleased.

"I won't have you accompany me today. Bought for me or not, I did not want you."

This seemed to dampen the slave's attitude. He looked as though he would have liked to protest with all his might, but instead he replied, "I understand, my liege."

"To mention it, who was it that bought you," he asked thinking of how he would lie them out later on. The man shook his head slowly.

"I am forbidden to tell you."

"Forbidden by whom? You follow this order, even when it means disobedience towards me," Gaara snapped. The man shook his head again.

"On the contrary, my liege. It is your very question that forbids me. The sound of your response, as well... Please excuse me. I shall retrieve your garments immediately."

The man zipped out of the room just as quickly as the mist, leaving Gaara dissatisfied. He should know now that the man was stubborn. He could even threaten to have the man expelled or killed and he still wouldn't give him the answer.

When he returned, Gaara was putting away thoughts of the fool and organizing the ones for his day ahead of him. It would be as long as yesterday, but he relished the fact that he'd spent time in the bath, and that there would be no war meeting tonight.

The slave hung his garments on the rack by the shower and knelt once again. He waited patiently for Gaara to extricate himself from the water so as not to become light headed or wrinkled. The slave handed him a bottle.

"What is this," he asked, eyeing the viscous liquid in the clear bottle.

"Creme. To keep your skin hydrated through the heat of the day."

Gaara scowled, but the man watched him patiently while he applied it to himself. When he was done, the man dressed him just as patiently. The slide of the clothes felt most intimate and made him uncomfortable. He shifted away when he was done.

The slave led him back to the room and helped him replace his shoes. The man didn't even flinch when the prince covered himself again with his sand. He watched intently as the fine grains of sand rolled across the floor.

"Is there anything else you require, my liege," asked the man. Gaara gathered his parchments and gave a minute shake of his head. He ignored the slave's farewell and stepped out.

The slave was waiting patiently when Gaara returned.

"Welcome home, my liege," he said, "I understand you had a meeting after supper. Would you like something to eat?"

"No," said Gaara. He eyed the room curiously, noticing first and foremost that the pile of sand was gone. It was the same with all the rooms he'd checked. The bathroom showed no signs he'd used it. The kitchen sparkled and smelled of cinnamon. Many of his sitting rooms were the same. His study, which was usually askew, sat with the books and parchments neatly stacked.

Unfortunately, nothing was stacked in good order so he'd have to go through it and arrange them again. It irked him, but not as much as knowing his private house had been cleaned. The traces of several handfuls of people going in and out of his house was evident. Gaara was solitary for a reason.

Not only that, but the slave sat as though he had never left the room. Had he slept? Gaara wanted to know his weakness.

"Do you not understand, slave?"

"Pardon me, my liege?"

"I live alone. Servants are not allowed in my quarters. _No _one is allowed the compound when I am not around."

The slave didn't say anything for a long time. Then he asked, "Has it always been this way?"

"What other way would there be for a demon? And shall continue to be through my own will. I will not have my peace trampled upon by the likes of you."

The man was trembling so hard he looked as though he might be having a medical fit. His lips were turned down harshly, his lower lip jammed between his teeth. His eyes were closed, each ball flicking behind them, back and forth.

"Please... Please, my prince, my Pharoah. I wish to be in your service until I am but dust. Do not send me away because it is all you know," said the man, in a voice that warbled on the edge of tears.

The same contrasting emotions Gaara had felt when the man said he'd take care of him rose in Gaara. Anger accompanied it.

Why? Why did he not feel victory? His intention had been to weaken the slave. Instead, he felt weak.

"Undress me," he said coldly. The man did so. Though it seemed his whole body shook, his hands were steady and gentle still. It was unbearable. Yet his face betrayed no tears no matter how hard Gaara looked up at him. Worse yet, even though it was virtually impossible not to catch a glimpse of the Prince's face from that angle, his eyes remained closed, or seemed that way.

He dressed Gaara, and the prince moved away from him. He could not help but feel the stilted movement from his slave.

When he sat down to read at last, the slave knelt beside him. Though his body was still, his shoulders giving no sign of a shake, Gaara's sharp ear could hear the patter of teardrops on his open palms.


	3. Chapter 3

Yet he persevered, as Gaara watched. The man learned Gaara's every move. He would greet him day after day without fail. The man knew what he needed and when he needed it. He would dress him more finely than the prince had ever dressed himself. When he was forced to attend functions he didn't want to go to, Gaara felt less feared and more... awe inspiring. Beautiful.

Gaara had never been more aware of his sovereignty. The man made sure his feet and hands never grew cold in the night nor too warm in the daytime. He gave Gaara the luxuries he always assumed he didn't have time to give himself. In the bath in the morning, the man's silent presence seemed to give Gaara the sunrise itself.

In the night, his greetings of welcome put stars on the canopy of Gaara's bed. He was almost relieved that the man was always there. He had begun to believe he was an apparition that lived only in Gaara's compound.

Yet he still found himself confused. He could not understand why these things were being given to him. It set him on edge. More often than not, he snapped at the man. The servant took this in stride. He did his duties with pride and conviction. Gaara's sharp tongue could not stop him.

It wasn't for months that they spoke on terms where Gaara did not get angry. Something about the man's giving presence irked Gaara. It seemed that being enslaved did not dishearten him. One evening, late into the night when Gaara noticed the man sitting still as a rock, he decided to ask him something. The man never moved, as if he were piece of furniture, even after all that time.

It made Gaara pause. Not usually did he hesitate with a question, but then again, not usually did he have many. He glanced at the man, his profile half dipped in candle light. His eyes never wavered from wherever spot he seemed to have picked.

"Servant," he said. The man turn his head over and down.

"Yes my liege?"

"Why did you weep that day," Gaara asked. The man's thick brows descended in confusion for a moment. Then his face softened.

"I wept for you, my liege," he replied softly, "I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you I would be owned by no other. To know that you have had no one who has felt the same, even remotely close... To know that you have kept no one, and no one has kept you... It shatters me, my prince."

"Why would such a thing do that," he asked. The man smiled givingly at his feet.

"Have I not treated you as royalty, my liege? Given you all my time and service? It is because I wish to. I could rebel and be killed if I so chose, but it would still be my decision. In other regards, your companions must share their company with you because they wish to. Because they have not, you have assumed you do not need it."

"I don't."

"Pardon me for speaking out of turn," said the man "but you have slept admittedly more than you ever have under my care. You have even said so. Do you not feel at ease with me?"

Gaara thought about it. It was true. He did feel more at ease. But...

"Maybe you are special. Even on our first night, when I did not trust you, I slept in comfort," Gaara admitted. It had made the day more mellow, he remembered. Every day that followed a rest under the man's watchful eye seemed...less intense.

"I agree you make a fine point. But imagine you grow to find people you _do _trust with yourself, my prince. Why not then, would you rest every night," asked the slave. Gaara thought it was a fair question. Even as a demon, with his other half residing in him, he'd rested well under the servant's care. He was, in some ways, fulfilled by his care.

"Are you implying then, that I am in need of other, different types of care... Care that you cannot give... And that you wept because I had not received those either," asked Gaara. It was strange talking about himself as if he were some science or psychology. Yet the servant seemed more pleased than he ever had. He smiled so brightly at Gaara's leg that it felt as though the sun was warming him.

"Indeed, my liege. And well articulated too," he said turning his head back to view his chosen spot. Gaara, feeling dissatisfied with the amount of attention he'd been given, closed his book over his hand and asked, "Why aren't you able to give me all those? Did you not tell me before that there was no one better suited than you?"

It had been an argument they had a little under a month ago. Gaara had been uncomfortable about the service the servant allowed into his quarters. Gaara had called him replaceable. The man, stubborn as ever, and knowing his own worth, apparently, disagreed. Just like that time, his brows furrowed thoughtfully as he turned his head towards Gaara once again.

"I am absolutely sure that no one can serve you as I do... but the care you will receive from a companion, a relative, or... a lover is unique," said the servant. His pause was punctuated by the lowering of his thick eyelashes. Gaara watched them as he thought. He wasn't sure _how _that care could be different, nor that he could receive those kinds of care.

"My liege," the servant said, "may I speak plainly?"

"Speak."

"You referred to your mistrust in me... Does that mean you trust me now?"

The man's smile was somewhere between sheepish and coy. Gaara could not help the feeling that came across his own face when he saw this. The corners of his lips trembled as he said, surprised by his own amusement, "Do not get ahead of yourself, servant."

"Yes, my liege."

There were few people whose words to which Gaara gave heed, and his servant had become one of them. He looked to try and strengthen the relationships around him. Instead, it began to feel like the distance between himself and others grew. It was obvious that he misplaced the meaning of jokes, that ideas of camaraderie were foreign to him.

He just couldn't understand why people wanted to do what they did. For example, his brother and his brother's friends enjoyed tussling in the dirt after a family meeting. Even more odd, after fighting and producing no obvious winners, they'd then go in their mussed clothing to watch_ others _fight in professional games. It seemed counter-intuitive.

He spoke with his servant about it, to come upon an answer that he could understand.

"Perhaps they do not fancy themselves as royalty or anything of the sort. Perhaps their ambitions lie in fighting, and so they tussle to express these ambitions."

Gaara still didn't understand.

"We have physical training daily. Surely that's enough fighting for them? And if not, they should take my place in the war Pharoah can always use another commander," he said flatly. The servant dipped his head.

"My prince... should your brother become a commander, would he ever see the field of war? If knowledge serves me, unlike in the past, present sovereigns of Egypt are rarely allowed to lead in battle. Regardless, even now, Egypt is," here, the servant paused, as if it pained him to say so, "at peace."

Gaara supposed this was true. He said, "Then he should just become a professional fighter."

"You know it is forbidden, my liege," the man said, and after a brief pause, "It is understandable for them to want to be more than they are."

Gaara's face wrinkled in thought. Why would they want to be more than royalty? They had the best of everything. And plainly, Gaara could say that the burden of being a god just wasn't worth it.

The servant, who seemed aware of his confusion, smiled and said, "It is understandable... Even yourself, a god with unfathomable power, are more than just that. More than simply crown prince."

"How do you say this is so," asked Gaara. It was so interesting. Somehow the servant could see what Gaara could not. Maybe his awareness of the world was due to his enslavement. The man tilted his neck and smiled.

"You are a brother, a son. You are a master. _My_ master. Pardon me if I make myself big, but you are my companion, my liege. For it is with you that I am most pleased to speak. It is no wonder, either. You are a scholar and a philosopher, for all the knowledge and self inquiry you hold," said the slave. He seemed most pleased to speak about Gaara as if he were the sun. Gaara felt pleased hearing about himself in such a manner.

He drummed his fingers on his book and said, "You also... Since it seems you are beholden to the ways of others, servant, I should have you follow me."

The man's breath seemed to hide on his lungs, and he asked, "My liege?"

"You've spent enough time as a mere house servant. Tomorrow you will begin assisting me with everyday commonalities," Gaara said. The servant seemed to choke on Gaara's declaration. His face transformed into a look so bright that the crown prince was unsure he would ever be able to look away. The black haired man lowered his head as if Gaara had placed an extra weight on his neck. Then he put his hands on the floor and bowed so low Gaara thought his lips might be touching it.

"Thank you! I am honored to be given this chance!"

Gaara was aware. But, even as he tried to make it remain, the slave's smile dulled.

"What," he inquired suspiciously, "Is your service only limited to before dawn and after dusk?"

The slave's eyes went wide and Gaara thought he might be turning color, but he could not be sure. The slave made sure to hide his face beneath his fringe.

"N-no! It is just... Well, I do not wish to hinder your precious time with my common rituals... But usually, as you sleep..."

"Spit it out," snapped Gaara.

"I bathe my body in the servants quarters. And I need a change of clothes. I do not wish to burden you, my liege, I simply-..."

"Then go," said Gaara. The slave seemed so surprised he almost raised his eyes to meet those of the prince. As it were, his arms shook from supporting his upper body.

He murmured, "My liege..?"

"Lead us. I shall accompany you," Gaara said. Somewhere in his mind, he still didn't think that the slave was real. Maybe he could exist outside of the compound, but only in Gaara's sight? The sovereign had hallucinated before. Well, he would know for sure if the man were real tomorrow, when they met with others.

"B-b-b-but my liege," said the slave, "I... To have you in the servant quarters... it is-"

"Am I the god of this land, servant," Gaara asked coldly. He would not be denied.

"I-indubitably," the servant agreed.

"So even the servant's quarters belong to me. Am I wrong?"

"No," the dark haired man bowed his head.

"So what does that imply?"

"That... should you desire to accompany me, I shall lead you there, my liege," he said as he stood. He undressed and redressed Gaara in long and thick clothes.

He walked over to Gaara's closet, and pulled from it something the sovereign had always thought was a heavy woolen blanket. He'd left the thing for the slaves to throw in the linen closet, because it had always irritated his skin. Likewise, it wasn't as though he slept enough to use it.

He'd only kept it for so long because he'd been told it had been gifted to him as a child, and the temple priests had refused to let him. Besides which, the weave on it was excellent.

"What are you doing," he commanded. The servant paused, opening out the large blanket.

"My liege... this idea was presumptuous of me, I admit. I was told you didn't like using this. I had seen the wool had not been properly taken care of, and assumed it irritated your skin... I have washed it and treated it, and asked the seamstress woman who works for you to have it done up in this fashion."

Gaara only noticed the snapping clasp when the servant undid it. The inside was full of an off white fur, speckled with spots of black and grey. Gaara's felt even less as though he might want to cover himself with it. The idea must have shown on his face, or maybe the servant had become good at understanding his terse, unapproving silences because the servant nodded.

"Do not worry, my liege. The material is not made of real animal fur, but instead of a fine cotton blend created in Southern Italy."

"... Dress me."

The servant smiled so warmly that Gaara felt the beginnings of a claminess overtake his skin. He didn't often remove the sand shield from around him, but since the servant was someone who had survived the beast within him, he dared leave himself unsheathed.

It was no easy feat, but once done, it had become comforting and seamless. He gone almost a fortnight without it during the midnight hours. He cloaked himself in it once more, unsure of where this journey would lead him, exactly.

The garment was heavier than what Gaara was used to when it came to clothes. True, he was used to heavy ceremonial garb. This kind of heaviness was different. It was warm. When he slid his arms through the oversized sleeves, he felt only his fingertips come out the other side. The heavy thing fell down past his knees.

The servant snapped it beneath his chin. The fur tickled him. The servant's fringe shone and fluttered under the candlelight, and that too tickled Gaara.

"Is there anything you desire before we depart, my liege?"

"Lead me," he commanded. He suspected the man to be stalling.

"Very well," said the servant.

The walk was brisk. Gaara had shaken his head spitefully and given the servant a vexed look when he pulled the hood over his head. He was glad for it, however, when by the time of their arrival he felt the first bits of chill biting his nose.

Gaara was not even aware that they arrived when they had. He'd followed his servant past a crumble if decrepit stoneworks. He'd glanced at it curiously, but turned his head away when the smell of rot forced him. The servant walked past the shambles, seemingly without notice they were there.

A little ways away, what seemed like it had been a once beautiful courtyard, now seemed like a graveyard to Egyptian artistry. It seemed as though everything good and rich about it had been dug up or ruined in outraged protest. The ground was uneven and broken, stones that once made up the ground smashed and crumbling.

The servant glided over it as though this were his homeland. He walked to a well Gaara noticed for the first time since they arrived. It stood at the center. Without a word, the servant knelt and pulled up something- a plastic pail- from its depths. It was almost as large as the well's opening. The water, barely clear, sloshed over the sides.

Silently, the servant carried it back to the stinking ruins. Gaara's browline furrowed. He slowed when his feet came to the edge of the courtyard, but the servant continued on. The tall man paused, turning his body back but not facing his master.

"To where do we go, servant? My feet are tired and I need rest," he asked. It was true. Sleeping so often had made him antsy on the days when he did not. The servant tilted his head.

"I go to wash my body. If the sight of this humble place displeases you, I will lead you to a bench where you may rest," said he, patiently standing as if the cold did not faze him.

"We go. Quickly," Gaara stressed. The servant turned again, and Gaara followed him.

The ruins had doorways without doors, and behind each, the Prince of Egypt could see mats lying on the floor. Some had feet atop them, and some were empty. The farther they walked into the ruins, the less it stank of rot, but there were the unmistakable smells of funerary oils.

And oddly, Gaara suspected, cinnamon.

The servant did him the service of walking quickly. As he studied what he saw, he also admired the way his servant didn't spill a drop. Gaara expected nothing less from _his _servant.

"_You_," someone hissed. It was such a low, squeaking sound that Gaara thought it were an animal who'd made it.

Only when he turned did he see a slave peer out of the dark. She was elderly, black eyes swollen and sunken into her head. She looked like a skeleton consumed by a ghost. Her long fingers clenched the door frame, ashen and bony. Her hair appeared greasy, as though she couldn't afford the time to wash it.

His servant's whole demeanor changed as soon as he saw her. He turned to face her fully. He moved with more motion than was necessary. She didn't look strong enough to hold the pail, but didn't waver when the servant handed it to her. The slave made a noise in her throat, but Gaara's servant dismissed her with a quick turn of his head.

She scowled but hurried off in the direction he motioned.

"I need to gather my belongings and things to wash... Shall I lead you to somewhere to rest," asked the servant. Gaara narrowed his eyes.

"Lead me to your quarters," he said tonelessly. The servant had the good manners to bow his head. Gaara was no fool and he would not be mislead. He both dreaded and excitedly anticipated what he would see.

Gaara held no illusions that the servant lived in his own veritable throne room. And he was right. The room was small, no bigger than one of Gaara's maintenance closets. However, he had not expected that the servant would _share _a room. Surely, there was etiquette to this?

Surely they understood this servant worked directly under Gaara? All these people served him in some way or another, so why did they live in shambles such as this?

The servant cleared the floor and piled pillows and duvets up for him to sit on. Gaara felt himself frown. They were all either filled with holes or flat and shapeless.

"I apologize, my liege," said the servant, sensing his displeasure. Gaara turned his head sharply, as if he did not want to hear it. And he didn't. Something had to be done.

"I will be sure to return shortly," the servant said. He turned and walked quickly out of what was more like a hole in the wall than a door, and disappeared down the dark hallway.

Gaara sat for less than five minutes before his restlessness pushed him forward. He followed where he thought the servant had gone. He looked in each doorway, each as or more horrifying than the last. He couldn't stand this. He was unsure why.

The old hag of a woman popped out of a doorway, scowling down at him. She managed to do this though she was much shorter than he. He made sure she knew he could kill her without batting an eye with a look. She shrunk.

"Where is my servant, hag?"

This made her lean forward. She looked as though she might pounce. Instead, she held up a finger, pointing sharply down the hall. He followed her direction.

The servant had his back to the prince when he walked in. He was half bathed in the light of a candle, his deep umber skin glistening. His back was decorated heavily with waxy scars. His muscles seemed to hide beneath his skin. When he moved to grab the bucket of water or his wash rag, they jumped out and quivered like large game.

Gaara very suddenly felt hungry. He called the servant in a voice that must have conveyed this. The servant jumped. Immediately he was down on his knees, his hands in his lap. His muscular thighs bulged with the weight set upon them.

"M-my prince! I apologize sincerely. I had no intention of showing you such a shameful body-..."

"Yet you did not feel so ashamed when you first threw yourself at me. Continue," Gaara said in his rough voice. He didn't understand why he couldn't seem to keep himself from talking this way. Maybe he was more furious than he thought about the servant's living quarters. Why hadn't the man told him?

The slave didn't rise from where he knelt. The skin on his shoulders was now a deeper, more red shade, as though the first times of the desert sun were upon him.

"A-a-at the time I was not aware that it was _you,_ my liege. Please- you must not look! I am-"

"Do not presume you may tell me what to do because I have allowed you to accompany me. I wish to return, so be quick and finish," said Gaara. The servant stilled. He seemed like he wouldn't do what Gaara asked, but after a few moments he grabbed the rag again and soaped himself.

He did not stand from where he knelt and did not look up. Gaara watched him intently the whole time. The servant had seemed small when they first met, but here in this light Gaara could see him.

Suddenly, the servants shoulders were ripe and hard like apples, his arms wired with muscles apparent only to those who watched long and carefully. He'd never paid attention to details like these before. He was unsure why these details caught his eyes.

He'd gone through anatomy lessons, and had plenty of young men and women thrust upon him. He was not new to the ways of sex or nudity. It just didn't interest him. Did the servant..?

But he had not shown any sexual behavior to Gaara since the first night. So how could Gaara feel interested in someone who was not interested in him? Maybe it was something he needed to discuss with his physician. Or Baki. The man seemed to know a lot about these types of things.

The servant upturned the silver bowl he'd been dipping his rag into over his head. Wet, his hair was flat and stuck to his face. He pushed it back and out of the way, dried and dressed himself. He made sure to keep his face turned away from Gaara at all times.

The prince wondered if it were because of his humility, his shame, or something else. He promised himself to ask him about it later.

Before leaving the graveyard, the servant murmured something to the woman. She didn't seem to like what he said, because her voice- a weathered, masculine thing- grew loud. The sovereign prince didn't pay much attention to her. Instead he watched the servants shoulders tense as he leaned closer to her and eyed her viciously. They had a staring match for a long moment before she spun away and hobbled back into the ruins.

The journey back seemed much shorter with all the things that preoccupied Gaara's mind. When they arrived, the servant immediately set a heater under Gaara's bedcovers. He brought a bowl filled with hot water and herbs from the east to warm his hands and feet.

After being undressed, redressed, and veritably pampered, Gaara finally saw fit to speak.

"From tomorrow onward, you will remain here with me in my household. I will decide which room will be your accommodation. Tomorrow evening you will return to... and bring all of your belongings here."

The slave didn't say anything at first. He simply shook his head in small movements. His hands clenched and released across his lap.

"I... I cannot do as you ask, my liege."

Gaara's eyed him carefully and with much thought. Months ago, he would have killed the man at the very idea of his denial. Now that he knew the servant so well, he knew he had a reason. He decided to amuse himself by teasing the servant.

"You dare deny me? Do you not obey your god?"

The servant was silent a long time, but Gaara was patient. He watched the shoulders of the man shake as he chose his answer. His fingers flexed, white in their grasp of the air.

"Please, forgive my insolence my liege. But I will lose my head before I abandon that place."

"Are you telling me that the shambles suit the servant of the next king," Gaara asked. This he said somewhat in jest, but the servant seemed to have a hard time answering this too.

"I cannot say," he shook his head, "but I cannot leave them. They still refuse to serve you, still lack guidance. And so long as I a slave and they servants, I will live as they do, however unbecoming. We are the same people."

Gaara didn't understand how the servant could be so giving and such an honorable man in such a dishonorable position. He suspected the servant had been a imprisoned royal. And though the thought worried Gaara, he liked what he heard. There was something about the servant's unwavering goodness that made Gaara pleased.

Someone like that _willingly _served him.

He sighed through his nose to keep up his annoyed pretense.

"If you very well wish to be destroyed and buried with the rubble, then so be it. I will find someone else to send them away while I have the place rebuilt."

The servant opened his mouth to retort, but after a few minutes, it looked obvious that he understood what his prince had said. He squeaked then coughed.

"Where-..?"

"I do not care. Just send them away, lest I have them all imprisoned until I am finished my project. "

"I will! I will send them away! Thank you my liege! I... I shall clean your entire palace in thanks for this honor! I will-..."

"Save it," said Gaara, sinking into his bed covers, feeling lovely and warm, "Tomorrow, you will do your utmost to assist me."

"Yes!"


	4. Chapter 4

Gaara was woken up by the almost tangible excitement of his servant. He bounced across the room, gathering Gaara's attire for the day. Gaara, still tired, opened his eyes slightly to watch the servant, who practically danced under his gaze.

He only realized that Gaara was awake when he shifted, trying to alleviate the static in his limbs.

"Oh, have I woken you? I apologize, my liege," said the servant in a voice that seemed almost obscene in its quietness. Usually, the servant had no control over the volume of his voice.

"It's fine," he basically groaned. The servant's eyebrows turned up as though he were worried that Gaara was not telling the truth, but he smiled at the floor.

"Please, rest more. I will heat the bath for you, and return to wake you when you're ready."

"Mm," Gaara said, feeling fatigue pull him back under. When he awoke again to a touch of his hand. It was actually quite nice- like wading through shallows of the Nile on a warm day, led by an even warmer hand. He woke slowly.

The servant's eyes were closed, but he wore a bright smile. He was half dressed, his arms bare in the tunic he wore. Gaara felt comfortable. He used the servant's hand to pull himself up.

"Are you well rested, my prince? Shall I carry you to the bathing room?"

"I am just lethargic, servant, not disabled. Fetch my robe," he said. It was cold in the open air.

Smoothly, the servant pulled his robe from his arm and put it around Gaara's shoulders. He walked from him and held open the door.

Gaara was still very much lethargic, and feared he'd fall asleep in the tub. As it were, when the servant washed his hair, he felt as if he might slip into never-ending unconsciousness. Then, as he got to the ends of Gaara's hair, he pushed his fingers into the back of his neck, right at the base of his skull, and pulled out towards his shoulders.

Gaara felt something so sharp that his toes curled and his eyes rolled. He had no time to process it, because the servant was repeating the motion, down and out, until Gaara felt his member was stiff and his body loose.

"What is that you do to me," he whispered, tongue tumbling.

"What I do with with my hands is a massage," the servant said, using his exceptionally calm voice, "It is to rid your back of knots and your spirit of unhealthy weight."

Gaara just groaned. The servant said nothing about his stiffness, only assisted him into the tub. When he sat on the edge, he felt especially like he might pass out. He leaned heavily into the wall behind him.

The man pressed a damp towel behind his head, so he could lean and relax.

"I shall return shortly. Please relax until you are ready."

The prince was able to stay awake this time. The swaying water and slowly gathering dawn served to calm him and keep him aware. Eventually, his stiffness went away. When servant returned fully dressed, Gaara was removing himself from the bath.

He helped Gaara dry himself, wrapped him in his robe once more, and moved to open the door for him.

As Gaara exited the room he admired the man's attire. He was suited for the well designed African clothes. They weren't exactly the same as the set that the other servants wore, but he _was _Gaara's retainer.

Gaara sat on the bed as the man did the usual sweep of his body with oils and essences. As he rubbed his back again, Gaara murmured, "This will be a long day."

The fatigue was not completely gone, and he felt as though the day would be full of that dull feeling. However, it was better than his usual bouts of fatigue, which were borderline narcoleptic.

The servant paused when helping him dress. He switched Gaara's long tunic and vest for something that he usually did not wear. It cuffed at his hands, and left his collarbone too visible to wear during the day. Gaara would have commented on this, except he was too busy having something tied around his neck.

It was a mix between a tourniquet necklace and shoulder pads. Gaara avoided wearing it, mostly because he hated how much it weighed, and how hot it was, even in the coolest rooms in the house.

Now it seemed much lighter and less hot, though Gaara suspected that heat would change during the course of the day.

"I had another made for you, since I saw that the other was being unused. It matches this set, you see. I apologise, I could not get them to do more than embroider it. I will return again to see if I can have some miniscule gems sewn onto it," the man said, fastening the short sides to the tops of his sleeves.

"Hm... What is this one made of," Gaara asked, touching it as the servant helped him into his shoes.

"A is a cotton mix. I was unsure if the mix would irritate your skin. Please be sure to inform me if so, so that I may help you replace it."

"Hm," he said, and gathered his books.

The walk was silent, without even the sound of their footfalls. The man didn't seem like one who could walk quietly. He always sprinted when Gaara asked him to get something for him that was outside of the room. It unnerved him.

He suddenly remembered as they walked on, that the servant had never met with the rest of his family. It shouldn't have troubled him but it did. The servant was just that. It didn't matter whether his relatives _knew _he had one.

Except he'd never kept one, so long, and so close to him, either. He'd certainly never allowed a servant to follow him around. Gaara unconsciously shuffled the sand barrier over his skin. He didn't understand.

The crowned prince only had time to hope the others would have another terse silence at breakfast when the man shuffled to open the door to the Main Hall of the Pharaoh's Palace.

"Stop," said Gaara. He hadn't meant to, but the servant halted just as he was told. He removed his hand and turned to face Gaara. His eyes were downcast as always.

"I am in need of assistance now, servant," he said.

"Yes. If I may be of service, Prince."

"There is a thing that ails my mind... To bring you to those people in there... It is a feat that you have survived _me_ this long, servant. But _they_... They are even more fearsome than I," said Gaara. The servant bowed his head.

"I must admit, I am ill prepared to deal with a room full of gods. What shall you have me do, my liege," asked the servant. Gaara felt frustration shake his head.

"No, they are not bestowed power like mine... My father only speaks of his power but never uses it... What I am saying is that... I have never brought in a servant before."

Gaara hated avoiding the topic, and he hated that this feeling was making him do so. The servant cocked his head and knelt down, right in front of Gaara's feet. He touched his shoe.

"My liege, do you respect your family?"

Gaara paused. That was an _exceptional _question. He definitely didn't _like _them. Lords, did they know how to step on his toes. He didn't want to be around them that often either.

But did he think the work his brother and sister, and even occasionally his father did was worth his respect? Absolutely. He said so.

"And- not to compare myself to royalty, only to compare myself in your eyes to others- do you respect me?"

Gaara remembered the very first act of kindness the servant had done for him. He remembered pretending to acquiesce when the servant wanted Gaara to read to him. He remembers the countless, tender morning awakenings, and the gentle attentiveness when he was helping prepare for bed.

The servant had done this willingly, knowing the beast that Gaara was. Didn't that deserve respect?

"Yes."

The servant closed his eyes and smiled brightly up at Gaara. He said, "I am so happy you think that of me, my prince. It is understandable to be worried about introducing those who you respect to others who you also think of in that way.

Especially when you are introducing a mere servant to a court of royalty."

That made a _lot_ of sense. Something else occurred to Gaara as he followed this train of thought as well. The servant had always treated him in a manner that was for his betterment. He didn't let Gaara step on him, but he did serve Gaara in a way that could be considered nothing but devotion.

His family members rarely did anything with Gaara's betterment at heart. He could remember none, in fact. The fact that his very own servant had been the one to make him aware of that fact was not lost on him. _He _didn't want to have to socialize with them, and he didn't want his far kinder counterpart to interact with them.

He did not voice this sentiment, lest they be even later to breakfast, only braced himself. They continued to the parlor.

The doors never seemed so imposing before. The servant held it open as though he didn't know what Hell lie before him. Gaara was sure he hadn't an idea.

He crossed the threshold into the cooled room. The family dining hall was about as large as the hall that led to it, and that was about a 3 minute walk from entrance to end. The table was made of a fine wood they had sent from southern Africa, at the very edge of the Egyptian empire, engraved in the markings that frequented the halls of their temples. The chairs were made of gold, inlaid with rubies, lapis lazuli, and malachite. They were barely comfortable enough to sit on.

Just like with many other things, his father had spared little expense in creating the ambiance in the room. It did scream 'Cold Royalty.' The Pharoah's seat at the head of the table closely resembled his throne in the Ballroom, but of course they both paled in comparison to his seat on the War Room.

Gaara had the unfortunate task of sitting at his immediate right, with his brother next to him. Because their mother was passed, his sister sat across from him, and next to her was the woman who was to wed his brother.

Gaara was the last to arrive.

"Any slower, and we'd have thought you didn't want to have breakfast with us, dear brother," said the woman. Gaara cut eyes at her.

"I am no brother of yours," he said. He hated playing that underhanded and rude game. If he had something to say, he said it. She looked scandalised.

"Gaara, do not treat our beloved sister in that manner," said Temari. The servant pulled his chair out silently, and he sat down. He was pushed closer without a word, and then the servant backed away. Gaara feared he might leave, but his presence lingered only a few feet away from the table.

Gaara stared at her plainly, as he knew that she hated the look of his eyes. She had once whispered so to her chambermaids, not knowing that he lie close by. She lowered her eyes now silently, her face turning waxy with her discomfort.

"Well, lovely way to start a morning," his elder brother drawled. Gaara paid him no mind. They silently waited for the servants to place food on the table and serve him. Usually, none of them dared fix his plate. _His_ servant, however, noticed them coming up to help their respective masters, and he stepped up to do so as well.

He loaded the prince's plate with cheeses and meats, with flatbreads and cups of cream and stew. Gaara wondered how the servant knew what he liked to eat. Of course, the servant paid attention to only him, so he shouldn't wonder at all.

"It's a change to see someone other than yourself serving you this morning," said Kankuro. Gaara said nothing. The elder prince smiled carnivorously him, raising his painted eyebrows.

"Shan't you even thank the damned servant? It's done more in your service just now than all our temple attendants _combined_," he said. Gaara felt anger light in him like a fuse.

"Servant," he called.

"Yes, my liege," the servant asked back, voice even and much stronger than it had been all day.

"Do you require thanks?"

It was a genuine question, one that he hoped the answer to would shut Kankuro up one way or another. The servant stepped up beside him again and poured in his glass of fine Grecian wine.

"Being of service to you is all the thanks I need, my liege," said the servant, and stepped back again. Kankuro clapped loudly and obnoxiously. Gaara was surprised his father hadn't silenced him yet. Perhaps he was waiting for the bloodshed that the monster inside would cause.

Gaara would show him no such thing. Besides which, he felt as though he were safe. His servant knew just how to deal with his other side, should he become inconsolable.

"You've trained it to admire you well," said Kankuro. Gaara looked at him askance.

"If I could so train someone to admire me as such, I would have been sure to train you not to speak, so in awe of me you would be," he replied sharply. His brother's betrothed looked in awe of what she had heard. Temari, however, began to giggle uncontrollably. Gaara was confused. He was sure he had not said anything outrageous.

"Enough of this childish squabbling," the reigning Pharaoh said, extricating himself from his seat. As he stood, Temari and his brother's wife bowed their heads, and Kankuro himself stood and bowed. All the servants got down on their knees. Gaara remained, passively eating and ignoring his surroundings. Secretly he hoped his servant did not bow to that man.

"So," said Temari, "your rebirth approaches, Prince. What shall I gift you?"

She always asked every year as a way to sneak closer to the throne, but Gaara knew a scheme well. This year, however, Gaara had reason to be suspicious of her, and not just apathetic. Did she jest with him? Was she the one who had gifted him the servant? Or was she coyly trying to grow close to him again? What would he do if she _was _the one who had given him his servant?

The thought made him anxious enough to take a sip from his wine glass. As he set it down , he could see Kankuro's betrothed angrily peering at him.

... Or behind him?

"How dare you, vile filth," she spat at him. Perplexed, Gaara couldn't say anything. A glance at his elder brother showed that he was just as confused.

"If we all must bow to the Pharaoh, then I shall die before I am kneeling lower than you, servant!"

"Shut _up_ will you, woman," Gaara's elder brother snapped, "I cannot even enjoy the peace of the Pharaoh being gone for two seconds... If you so wish to be queen, you might as well chase after his tail!"

Kankuro's fiance's head snapped around, and she stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. She was pale, paler than all the rest of them, as Kankuro's father had believed some fortune would come if she married into the family. Instead, the only thing that came to them was a red faced wretch. She looked ridiculous, twitching and snuffling like that, like a cat that had lost all its fur.

Something about it made Gaara laugh. It wasn't big or outrageous, it couldn't even be considered a real laugh, how strange it was. He just felt it bubble up and escape. It slipped out and tinkled like utensils on fine china. His siblings looked surprised and confused.

Gaara realized for the first time, even though it had been more of an insult than a joke, he found their jests funny. He shook his head slightly and began to eat. He was quite hungry after their morning scuffles, and his plate did look appetizing.

Thankfully, the rest of the meal was held in silence as the court of young Egyptian royalty were still too shocked or terrified to talk. It let Gaara build a bit of anxiety about his lessons. He was to meet Baki directly after breakfast in the archives.

All through his walk to their meeting, he hoped his mentor would not feel the need to mention his new attendant. He failed to notice said servant's excitement about the scenery around them, or the prying eyes that followed them around. The walk was not long to the archives. It was a pleasant crossing of one of their splendid courtyards and down numerous flights of stairs.

They entered the grand hall full of whispers and desperate archivists. Gaara felt the servant grow closer to him as they made their way through the bramble of books and tablets.

"You arrive late and decide to bring... the rabble with you," said a gruff voice from the shade of a tower of fairly fresh looking booklets. Baki always had a mountain more work for him to do. It seemed he would not be satisfied unless Gaara memorized the archives by heart. At least he didn't have lessons with the others today.

"Have I ever been late before," he asked blankly.

"No. Which is why it is all more alarming," he said, eyeing his attendant sharply. Gaara scowled. He felt a stilted need to introduce these two people, from whom he had learned much. Yet it would open a book he was unsure he was prepared to read.

"I am the Royal Scholar, Bookkeeper, and Advisor, Baki. And you are," he said, reaching out toward Gaara's servant as though he expected his wrist kissed. It irritated Gaara the most, but he tried not to let that show. Baki knew almost everything about him, and would report whatever he saw to the Pharaoh without a second thought.

The servant got down on his knees and lowered his head, ignoring the offered hand altogether. He replied, "I am the prince's servant."

"Hm... There's is another prince in this kingdom, you will be aware. Lack of specification will doom you," Baki said, sneering down at the man. The servant shook his head.

"There is no other prince but the one I serve. I cannot read, nor write, and it has never served me in speech. If I said a word that sounds much like another, you will still understand what I mean, no?"

Gaara did so like the quickness of his servant's tongue, but knew it would not suit him here.

"Servant, go now and take care of your duties. I shall take my break at high noon and expect to be lead to lunch."

"Certainly, my liege," said the slave, standing and making his exit. Baki immediately began lying books and scrolls to study in front of him. He didn't say anything about the slave, only led Gaara through the usual scriptures. The longer they went without saying anything, the more uncomfortable Gaara became. He wondered what Baki thought. His servant had been a bit rude (though what did Gaara expect, since he wasn't the picture of politeness, either.)

Another thing came into his mind; the question he had for Baki.

"Is it possible to feel arousal for someone who does not feel arousal towards you," he asked. Baki eyed him as though he had begun to sing the ancestral rites. Gaara tried to think about how the question might seem odd. He had never asked something like it before, since he had received all the education in sex he could never want. However, he suspected this question had little to do with education, and more to do with opinion.

"Where has this line of thought come from," asked Baki. Here Gaara was torn between telling the truth and lying. Why was he worried about anyone know that he felt arousal towards his servant? It was an embarrassment. Gaara had never felt arousal or much of anything towards anything. He was stone cold. Or so he thought; so had they all. He lied.

"I am often sent concubines and slaves for pleasure. They throw themselves at me as though I will be their last breath, but I do not feel anything," he said.

"In that case, it is less arousal than desperation," said Baki, returning to his work. Gaara felt displeased with this answer. He did not want to think of the hunger in his body as desperation. He was not _desperate_ for his servant. He could have whomever he wanted. It made a mess of his insides.

Baki must have seen his internal struggle, for he said, "It is possible. The decision to act on or discuss this arousal is up to the parties involved."

Gaara felt partially displeased with this answer, but less like he was an abnormality than before. He frowned and murmured, "I cannot trust what you may tell the Pharaoh."

Baki's forehead wrinkled over the smooth skin of his brow bone. He said, "You are ill informed if you think I report all of my doing or yours to the Pharaoh."

"I speak to you most frequently and most deeply, so there is no way for him to know what ways to torment me unless it has come from you," snapped Gaara, feeling irritated. Baki made a sound between a huff and a growl.

"I have never known you to be so childish, but I fail to remember that you _are _a child. There is no need to tell him what angers or shames you. You clearly wear those emotions across you like fine jewelry."

Gaara scowled more deeply than ever. When Baki snorted, he tried reigning in his facial expressions but it just made him more irritated than ever. Not feeling as though he was any closer to his answer before, he turned to find the text he had left unfinished from last lesson.

"If it is a whisper of desire that you feel," Baki said, "then I may ask for a concubine to be sent to you. Or you may ask your servant to assist you."

"I will do no such thing," said Gaara a bit too quickly. He had asked everything of the servant- would he ask him to teach him of sex as well? Gaara already knew, but it would be _different _with his servant. Someone who didn't fear him. Someone who was _happy _to be in his presence. He tried to read a sentence over and over but could not make sense of the words. Baki took mercy on him and changed the subject.

"You seem more... alert these days. Well rested, perhaps."

Gaara fidgeted a bit and said, "The beast... has not spoken to me in a long while... I... fear that it may be plotting something."

Baki gave him a long, hard look, and asked, "Have you been to the Temple of Healing?"

Gaara flicked his head slowly, "Not in a good fortnight or two."

Baki grunted but stood silent for another long moment. "_Have _you been well rested?"

Still mistrustful of Baki, but knowing that he had been Gaara's most insightful friend before the servant, he murmured, "I sleep most nights of the week, now. I have slept for five consecutive nights, so far."

The sovereign prince could feel Baki's eyes peering into him. Gaara attempted to remain removed, to not feel anxiety creep upon him.

"I will offer you two pieces of advice before we begin our lessons," said Baki, effecting a tone to which Gaara had been almost trained to listen, "The first, avoid returning to the temple for as long as you may dare. The second... Speak with the servant about your desires... If he has given you peace enough to sleep, he will not begrudge you another type of relief."

Although the last comment did work to throw Gaara off, he could not but be suspicious of Baki's warning. He wanted to ask what he meant, but he knew that no amount of pestering would bring him an answer. It pestered him all afternoon, until his servant appeared by his side, beaming. He seemed happy to be back, and though it distracted Gaara of his suspicions, it did nothing to alleviate the burning humiliation of _asking _him for... relief.


	5. Chapter 5

"I will do absolutely no such thing," said Gaara. His servant leaned to speak into his ear, "You said you wished to know why they always spar with one another. Now is your chance."

The soft lilt of his voice sent shivers down Gaara's spine, and he was reminded of the relief which he was yet to find. His attendant seemed to grow more fine with each passing day. It did not help that Gaara held his consolations, his admiration, his _laughter _in his head like a tune.

"Spar with them? And have their blood in my sand? I think not," he replied. His brother was sparring with another of his friends, one of the generals from the south that had come for an extended visit. Gaara didn't like him much, but it gave him an opportunity to witness a side of his brother that he didn't often.

"Then shall I be your partner, prince," asked the attendant, sliding in front of him. His eyes were turned down, making his coy smile all the more prominent. Gaara was enticed, his mind wandering to what _kind_ of partner he meant.

"No," said Gaara at once. Him, fight the man? And what if he accidentally killed him? Gaara couldn't bare the thought of being without the attendant again. The idea shocked him, but he felt it could not be more right.

The slave deflated, but ventured on, "I can handle it! During the moments when you did not trust yourself with another's well being, I remained by your side. I know you will have complete control in a duel with me."

Gaara eyed him conscientiously, very much disagreeing. It had been a long time since he had dueled anyone, the last time less of a deal and more of a fight to the death. It would be good to stretch himself, and maybe this concern would help him hold back.

And maybe he didn't want to disappoint his servant. An intriguing thought.

"Okay then... Let us duel."

The servant smiled happily, taking two long bouncing hops away from the crown prince. He quickly pulled up his pants legs. Beneath them, Gaara could see small metal slatted plates strapped to his legs. The man slipped them off and laid them gently to the side. He unraveled the bandages on his arms a slight bit.

"Are you ready, my liege," he asked, stretching himself. Gaara was entranced, but not enough to stop him from removing his own shoes. It was the first in a long time to do so. When he stood upright again, he saw his servant covering his eyes with bandages.

"Have you lost your sense," asked Gaara, trying not to show his discomfort to the others, "I will not fight a blind man."

The servant smiled a crooked smile, but Gaara could read no insecurity within it.

"Although I'm sure you do not remember, I have fought you this way many times."

Gaara felt something like shame wrench through him, but the servant stood confidently. He stood without malice. Excitement brimmed at being able to face Gaara again, he could tell.

"I cannot face a blind man," he repeated, "I will have to be weak on you, and then there will be no point."

"I have removed my weights," exclaimed the servant, hopping quickly from side to side, "You will see, there will be no need to go easy on me, prince... Please, it will be the first time I am to fight you in lucidity."

Gaara scowled. Only this man, not his father, not the heavens, not another god, could sway Gaara the way this man could. Perhaps it would not be a good idea to pursue pleasure in his servant's body. The prince would be ensnared by sex with him.

"Fine," he said reluctantly, "We shall count off before beginning... Three... two... one."

The slave shuffled his feet in the sand, as if trying to understand where he was. He took off. Before Gaara was even aware of him moving, his sand barrier came up to protect his body. His servant zipped around him like a fly. He was quick, almost invisible, and _irritating. _Gaara had misjudged him.

He split his attention between blocking his opponent and the sand surrounding them. There wasn't much; the royal grounds were far too lush. He did what he could, dispersing sand to create more sand.

At one point, he had had to physically dodge his servant, his mind too concentrated on one thing.

"Pay attention to me," the young prince thought he heard the servant mumble, and a shiver of excitement went down his spine. If Gaara had his way, he would be giving the man the kind of attention he so sorely needed.

He felt that he amassed enough sand and began using it to try and catch his servant around the feet. His opponent began hopping back, finally, on the defensive instead of offensive.

Gaara gripped his own feet and heels in a cloud of sand and lifted himself about twenty feet off of the ground. Now, there would be no way for the man to get to him. But that didn't seem to put the man off.

"Ha ha," he laughed, "I knew this was something I could not miss!"

For more than two minutes, the servant did nothing but jump around, narrowly avoiding being grabbed or having a wave of sand bury him. Gaara began to think he would have to try harder. He shifted the sand below the servant constantly, trying to uproot his footing.

If anything else, his servant grew more graceful. He bounced around, getting closer and closer to where Gaara had been standing. He zoomed passed, seeming to notice that Gaara was not anywhere near by. He stopped for a second, but it was all Gaara needed to wrap the sand around his ankles.

The servant didn't panic. He twisted himself, slipping through the not yet hardened sand, and jumped a short bit to release himself completely. He made his way over to the trees, obviously hoping that it would be some respite from the sand Gaara continued to create. He wasn't wrong. Gaara tried not to mess _too _much with the foliage.

That did not mean he would be safe. The otherworldly prince formed weapons of all shapes and sizes from the sand, and began hurling them at the servant. For the most part, they were blunt, but he _did _intend to incapacitate the servant. He would not let other see this match and think him merciful.

The servant dodged a few Gaara sent out to hit him, and did something to surprise the prince. He pressed one foot hard into the trunk of one of the trees and began climbing it. Step after step, he slammed his body weight up the tree, narrowly dodging Gaara's weapons upon his ascent. The king-to-be was astounded. How could a man do such a thing with no special power?

The servant made his way up until the tree began to thin out. When Gaara thought he could climb no more, the servant vaulted his body, heels over head. He floated there in the air for a moment, his back to Gaara, his hair floating like the black threads of nightfall. Gaara was taken.

The servant landed again, and this time, fearing that he might be caught, Gaara redoubled his efforts. He sent wave after wave of sand, following the man right back to that tree. He climbed again, and this time when he vaulted off, his body turned. If they had not been covered, his eyes would have looked straight into Gaara's. As it were, for the very first time since he had realized his desire, Gaara could see the man's face in its entirety.

And he was a _man. _His cheeks and jaw were sharp like the edge of a scythe. His muscular forearms drew in the sun but didn't shine with sweat like Gaara expected them to. Instead, they twisted solidly, reminding Gaara of living concrete.

Gaara snapped out of his trance when the man disappeared back below again, failing to make contact with Gaara. He suspected that if he had another chance to jump-

Before he could retaliate, his servant's foot was bursting through the half cocoon of sand he had made for himself. He made a flat wall of sand to block it. It broke his concentration, causing him to fall through the air. He could see his servant coming down in front of him.

He flipped to land on his feet and begin another attack just as someone screamed, "_Look out!_"

Gaara raised his sand as quickly as he could as time slowed down. Arrows, jagged and perhaps faster than his protection, were headed straight between his eyes. He hoped that at least in death he would no longer be able to hurt anyone, and that his servant would not be sold to anyone else.

The man flashed in front of him as if materializing out of thin air. There were two short sounds, like air zipping out of a tight space, and his servant fumbled before him.

Gaara looked at the man, not sure if what he was seeing was correct. He could only see the man from the back, hunched over himself.

"Servant," he called weakly, forgetting momentarily that his life was in danger. The man turned his head over his shoulder, grimacing weakly. He was attempting to smile; to reassure Gaara. The young prince felt rage spike in him so fast and hard that he thought he might expel the contents of his stomach.

His sand built upon itself, whirling like a living thing. It shot forward and grabbed the escaping assassin by the ankles. His servant stood up. As the man was dragged backwards, he took short steps forward.

"Servant, you are injured... I will deal with the assassin myself," said the prince. The man turned his head as though without turning his body he could shield Gaara from the truth of his injuries. He had always been a fool about Gaara's own sensibilities. The longer he took to obey, the more panic Gaara felt within himself.

"We must question him, my liege. He has attempted to single-handedly kill you. A foolish endeavor but perhaps only a decoy," said the slave, continuing his strides, "At least, he deserves to suffer as he intended to make you suffer."

"And what will you do whilst pierced with arrows," Gaara said raising his voice angrily for the first time he could remember, "If it so behooves you, I will send him to be interrogated, I will find the answers which you seek! Do _not _move another step, servant!"

The injured man paused, then, as if the pain had suddenly caught up to him, went down on one knee. Gaara entrapped the assassin just as guards strode up. He ordered them to take him away, and that he would see to their interrogation shortly.

He strode purposefully to his servant's side. He looked as though he would lose consciousness at any second.

"Undo the bandages from your eyes, and cover your wound," he hissed, "Are you so incapable..?"

The man laughed painfully, "It seems I have lost some good deal of strength."

Gaara hissed again. He unwrapped the bandages from the man's head quickly. He shoved them around one of the arrows that had hit near his collar. His heart stuttered in his chest. For the first time ever, he felt fear for someone else's life.

What had the man done to him?

"You waste your life defending me," he said shakily, looking up for a moment to catch a glance of medics close by, "I will find you in the afterlife and torment you for eternity."

The servant laughed again, and began sinking toward the ground, "To lose my life defending you... there would not be a more honorable death for me."

"Fool," Gaara hissed anxiously.

"Though I must admit," the man slurred, making Gaara fear he would not live much longer, "it is my selfish desire to be by your side forevermore."

**_~{Egypt}~_**

Worry like a tumultuous sky built up in Gaara as he arrived on his compound. He made it all the way to his room before he realized that the man was _his _servant. If he wanted to watch over him, he would. If he wanted to... to worry about him, he would. This was the man who had sacrificed almost everything to make sure Gaara was cared for. Yet Gaara didn't even know his name.

He only loosed some of his formal outer robes before turning back around and going to the hospital. His pace was brisk at best, and a graceless jog at worst. The man's words echoes in his head. When he arrived, his was in a flurry of movement that made most of the staff shiver. .

"Where is he? Where are you keeping my servant," asked Gaara. Most of the staff bowed their heads in fear of him. Only one physician, small but commanding, stepped up to him and said, "The man struck with arrows? Please follow me, your highness."

She moved around him quickly without waiting to see if he would follow her. He did.

"He is asleep right now. A word of advice, your highness. If you don't want him to pass out from exhaustion again, I suggest you let him rest more often," she said, sliding open a room door slightly. Gaara merely glanced at her in confusion. She did not meet his eyes.

"Of what do you speak..? He has been poisoned and shot," he said. She gave him a wry smile.

"The man is no weakling, prince. The wounds have been sutured properly with no excessive bleeding, and the man's resistance to the toxin was quite high. He simply collapsed due to fatigue."

Gaara felt dumbfounded. His servant's collapse was _his _fault? He had demanded too much of him. He unjustly wanted the man to be by his side at all times. Additionally, the man would not be one to shirk his duties. He had probably cleaned Gaara's quarters when he was sent away during Gaara's study times. Once again, the prince cursed himself.

He looked at the man as he slept. It was as though he had become a sprite. His chest rose and fell softly, his temperament finally unaffected by his duties. Perhaps sprite was the wrong word. The man was a lesser deity, a spirit of hearth, but with vengeance lining his intentions. Gaara replayed the way he strode carefully after the assassin while injured and shivered.

Looking to see if anyone would come, Gaara gently touched the man's cheek. Never having initiated before, it was another shock. Somehow it had escaped him that it would be so _warm _to touch someone else. Rubbing the soft skin of his face, Gaara made a promise.

"I shall...have a care for the way I treat you. Never again shall you fall ill because of my mistreatment."

The servant groaned a bit. He shifted into Gaara's touch, who froze in shock. The servants eyes flickered beneath his lashes, and then he too froze. Gaara slowly retracted his hand to see what the man would do. After a few moments, the man sprang out of bed, bowing lowly.

"M-my liege, I am so sorry, I-"

"You claim to be the best qualified to be by my side, but you fall prey to fatigue," Gaara said. Horror settled in him as he said it. It wasn't what he meant to say. Where had the tenderness from just a moment ago gone?

"I- I am sorry, I-.."

"Get back in the bed," Gaara growled.

"But I-..."

"That is an _order,"_ Gaara commanded firmly. The man rose to his knees and then wobbled as he made his way back into bed. Gaara reached out to help him, but feared the man seeing such tenderness for him. What if he were too gentle and the man changed? He waited until the man was settled in the bed again, eyes dipped low as to not look at Gaara directly. For some reason, for the first time ever, it irritated Gaara.

"Do you think I am in such dire need of your assistance that you must deprive yourself of rest," he asked softly. The servants eyebrows rose in alarm. He gently shook his head.

"Then it must be that you have no self-control. Why you push yourself to be at my side every moment," Gaara paused, trying to find a way within himself to be more gentle, "Why it seems that I have pushed you to be with me at every waking moment of the day..."

"No, please," the servant gasped, "I selfishly desire to be with you at every moment. I..."

Gaara felt his face grow warm. It was pleasant.

"What is your name," he asked softly. The servant gasped again and chewed his lip. He looked caught between wanting to fulfill Gaara's request and not wanting him to know. The prince was patient.

"Lee," he said as quietly as he possibly could. Gaara rolled the information around in his head. He attached the name to information. _Lee _had forced himself into Gaara's life. _Lee _had cared for him these many months. _Lee _had given him rest, peace of mind, an inquiring heart. It was Lee that he admired; that he liked.

"Lee," he repeated, and watched as the man shifted upon hearing it. His face once again turned a dusty shade of red. Gaara felt pleased by it.

"You will rest for the remainder of the day, Lee," he said. The man squirmed again.

"But-..."

"You will not disobey me, will you, Lee," asked Gaara firmly. The man's cheeks flamed up. He shook his head, slinking down into the covers as if to shield himself.

"Good," murmured Gaara, "I will have a messenger sent to me when you are to be released."

Until then, Gaara had plans to be made.

**_~{Egypt}~_**

It was late evening when the messenger, a girl that could not have been older than eleven years old, found him walking back from the servant's quarters.

It was more than three quarters of the way done, and it was looking fine. There was a small resting area in front of it, with a fountain for decoration. A team had been assigned to planting shrubberies and cacti, and small trees for shade.

Gaara had the well sealed, but not before the water had been redirected into the living places. He would be damned if his servants could not remain clean under his command. Inside, he had separated the quarters for men and women. They hadn't yet installed the doors to each area, nor finished the bathing areas, but Gaara thought that a month had been quite enough time. He hoped Lee would be pleased.

"He insists that he be released and brought to you directly," said the messenger. It was already almost completely dark, and she was not properly covered. She shivered, no doubt from the threatening breeze, and from the prince's own presence. Gaara scowled.

"Send him back to my compound," he said, "And then return to your home as quickly as you might. It is dark for you to be wandering alone."

The girl's face showed shock, but she nodded quickly and dipped away. Gaara entered his quarters and picked up his clothes. He folded them neatly and put them away. He hadn't been lying. He had been taking care of himself since his mother's death and his uncle's marriage to a the chief of a southern province.

He had begun to undress when there was a soft knock on his door. He debated putting on more clothes before opening it. He disregarded the thought. Lee stood outside the door, features shifting nervously under the flickering lights of the hall. He could see the man's eyes firmly stuck on his exposed collarbone. The man blushed again.

"Did you rest," asked Gaara, opening the door widely but not moving to let Lee inside. The man scrunched his lips in a way that Gaara thought was absolutely attractive. It should have been illegal.

"Yes, my liege. The physician would not release me until I did so... Is there anything I can assist you with," asked Lee. Gaara thought now was as good a time as any. He stepped out of his room and closed the door.

"Follow me... Lee."

He would have to get used to calling him by his name. He stepped around the man quickly and made his way down the hall. Just before the entryway that connected their hall to another, he turned to a door. It was a much smaller door than his own, which almost spanned the height of the wall. Though smaller, it was only slightly less grand.

It was a room meant for his wife, when he took one. It was close enough to his quarters that he wouldn't have to look far. _And _it didn't hurt that there was an adjoining hall he could use to meet him if he so chose. He would show that part to Lee _after _he was well rested enough to use it.

For now, he pushed open the door and said, "This will be your new room."

He stepped aside as Lee moved to look inside. Gaara had not taken out one thing meant for his wife. If he were married, he'd probably have to move Lee, along with all the furnishings, back to the other room, but he didn't think about it for now.

Lee's bed was a luxurious four poster with a high velvet headpiece. There were chiffon curtains embroidered with gold thread drawn back from the edges. On the far wall was a vanity, though it was bare of any jewelry or Lee's personal effects. He supposed the man didn't have much. There was a small plush bench at the foot of the bed that Gaara sat on as he watched Lee take in the room. It was identical to the one in front of the vanity, save for its size.

The man looked at was large armoire in the corner had glass doors. The window to the garden courtyard, much like the one in Gaara's own room, sat just behind the vanity.

There were pots and jars filled with incense and perfumes, little carafes of creams. They were meant to be gifts to his future bride, but Gaara thought they would be better suited to Lee. He were much more important than she, in the prince's mind.

"How can I accept such wondrous things," whispered Lee. Gaara dipped his head.

"Quietly," said Gaara, "while resting for the next three days."

Lee made the distressed noise he did when he didn't agree with what Gaara was asking. The sovereign raised his hand, looking unhappily at the servant, even though he knew the look wouldn't reach him.

"There is no room for argument. You will be assisting me with something incredibly important upon your recovery," he added. He nervously licked his lips at the thought of what that important thing was.

"I... I understand, prince. Thank you... very much."

Gaara nodded again.


	6. Chapter 6

Le gasp, this has a plot!

Writing short stories has helped me become more succinct in my writing.

Or so I hope.

* * *

Gaara didn't mean to, but he dared feel lonely when Lee was not around. Restless sleep was filled with images of Lee being injured, his body covering Gaara's in a wanton heat that made him sweat even as he woke. Gaara knew that if he didn't come up with a solution soon, those nightmares would continue on.

He began to realize that he had many more pressing problems. Without Lee hopping around to care for things day in and day out, his compound was deserted. The halls looked dusty and worn, the sun didn't shine in the places it usually did. His sense of style was lacking, his sleep was lacking.

He began to realize that before Lee had come, he had put what little energy he _had _into defying his position as crown prince. He'd always begrudged himself as an obedient son, doing as his father bid and being the monster the empire had always wanted. He was surprised his elder brother wasn't resentful towards him for being chosen. Now that he'd acknowledged his past actions, he felt living that way was pretty and boring. Lee's now extended rest forced him to find other things to focus on.

Which was why, four hours into looking into the same documents, the crown prince of Egypt was once again working out the completion of his servant's quarters. It had been so close to completion, yet they had run out of materials. Gaara had not set a greater budget, yet still no expenditure of money seemed to help him attain the materials he needed. He would have to investigate. It was his greatest attempt to take his mind off the situation of his home life, and of Lee.

"Who makes the tours around our land," Gaara asked Baki, thinking there was no place to better start than with his aide. The taciturn assistant looked him over carefully.

"Taking tours? And who would have time to do such a thing whilst running an empire," he asked, the deadpan in his voice giving away no hint of what he thought of Gaara's question. Gaara thought perhaps Baki was always testing him this way. Always asking him questions that were supposed to test his resolve and make him think twice. Even though perhaps most of the rest of the court had given up on the pharaoh coming, Baki hadn't.

"Perhaps the aides. The scholars and archivists whom father never bothers to pay heed to. Or... we don't have anyone stationed across the lands? The borders of our empire are wide and far between. If no one is checking it, how can we say things are going smoothly," Gaara asked. Baki's unreadable face searched his for a long time. The quiet rustling of the other scholars in the room seemed loud without their quiet conversation.

He stood up and walked away from Gaara. The young prince scowled at his rudeness, almost demanding he return to his audience. However, Baki returned without a word, placing tablature after tablature of notes in front of him. Gaara searched Baki's face, just as the other man searched him. He began flipping and scrolling through the pages.

The more he read, the more he felt cold.

"The war my father has been waging... where is the money to fund it coming from," he asked, dread rising up inside him. It had started so _long _ago. Gaara remembered because he had taken his frustration out on Lee when it first started. He'd growled and ranted and almost shouted at his servant until he felt almost everything in him release. Baki sifted through the pieces and handed him another note. Gaara didn't even think he needed to read it. He could _feel_ what it would say. He took a shaking breath.

"I need to see," he said, "With my own eyes, I must bear witness to this."

Baki shook his head, "There is not a subject alive in this empire who wouldn't recognize your eyes and hair. You would be remiss to attempt to visit the lands without an attempt on your life at every step."

Gaara thought back to the pale attempt only days ago, "My servant will know how to disguise me. I can protect myself. And these walls will not stop a rebellion against us, should it already be working."

Baki continued to look at him, something strange and unreadable in his eyes, "The people are weak. As you can see, this disorganization can only help them get so far."

Gaara looked through all the papers again, knowing he would need copies if he were to be taking a journey across the land. He wanted to start right away. He would need Lee's help. The man knew how to get under people's skin. He had certainly gotten under Gaara's.

"When did we stop," he asked softly, "When did we stop caring for their needs? When did the lives of our people become fodder for our reign? Mother used to-... Put my rambling out of your mind. Perhaps I am delirious."

Baki's eyes were soft for the first time. He said, "The pharaoh only knew the goodness of the empress's heart. Perhaps to him, the world is devoid of it without her."

Gaara wished he could say he didn't understand, but he thought he was beginning to. Almost a year in Lee's company, and only a few days without it, and he could feel himself changing. He wanted his empire to be grand. He wanted his lifestyle to reflect the richness he felt in his soul.

But not at the cost of others.

_**~{egypt}~**_

Lee seemed eager to go back to flitting around the compound, taking care of everything. Gaara decided it was best to redirect his attentions to something more focused.

"You will take care of my needs and only that," Gaara commanded. He could swear he saw Lee smiling as he bowed down to him.

"Yes, my liege."

"No more dusting, cooking, cleaning, or any other nonsense. You will remain by my side at all hours of the day. When I dismiss you, you will rest. You will present yourself in a manner that is befitting of being my aide," Gaara dictated sternly. Lee fidgeted where he sat on his knees. Like that, he looked good; prostate before Gaara. The pharaoh coming would not think about how all his own goodness was Lee's doing. It would seem as if _he_ were the one beholden to the man.

"But what of your luxury," Lee asked, "The other servants have been sent away. Dust continues to collect."

"Do not worry yourself with it. I shall tell you something important," Gaara folded his ankles together and watched the resolute look on Lee's face. That determined scowl was very becoming on him, and Gaara felt desire pass over his stomach like the wide tongue of a lion. It prickled and bristled, was warm and hurt, left a cool trail in its wake as he tried to remain calm. He so wished the request he had of Lee before his study two days ago could be what he was asking.

"This empire is in dire need of proper care. Perhaps you were aware of this before you came to be in my company," he said. Lee's eye slid to the side as though he held a secret he was saddened to have never shared with Gaara.

The sovereign realized he had not asked Lee one tidbit of information about himself. He knew a few things- he was born on the Asian continent, between Egypt and the provinces of China, the land his father fought to conquer. His caretaker had been from the Yunnan empire, hence how he got the name Lee. He had been enslaved and indentured to many people before. Gaara decided that their journey together would be the best time for him to learn all he could about Lee. He would be like a brand new text, and Gaara would drink in all knowledge within.

"So you _are_ aware. I must... express my regret. As the next pharaoh, my first priority should be to ensure that my empire is prosperous, and by every account, I have failed."

Lee's eyes were wide as he asseverated to the floor, "Oh, no. I beg you, my liege, do not be hard on yourself. I can see now the difficulties you have faced personally that have kept you from your duties proper."

"_You_ may understand these things, but to the people who are suffering starvation and poverty, there is no such excuse. Which is why I wish to set out on a journey to make things proper. Or to at least set the sands in motion so that the people may heal on their own," Gaara said. Lee looked at Gaara's feet like they were made of pure gold.

"And me, my liege," he asked quietly, a note in his voice that Gaara truly wished to believe was begging. He shivered at the thought.

"You shall accompany me, of course. There are a great many things in the world I am not familiar with. I am in need of a good caretaker... and a good advisor," he said. Lee's body seemed to vibrate with his excitement. He touched his head to his knuckles, spilling his glossy black hair across the floor. Gaara thought he could no longer withstand the heat pooling in his stomach. He cleared his throat shortly.

"There is one other thing I am in need of your assistance with. Something I wish to only ask of you."

"Yes my liege," Lee chirped happily, clearly excited to have been allowed to come along, "Anything I can do to please you."

"Ah, a fair choice of words... You see, I am in great need of pleasure."

They sat in silence for a long time. Gaara wondered if he had made a mistake. He didn't think of it previously, but he wondered if asking this of Lee could fracture their tenuous camaraderie. They were master and servant, after all. There weren't really boundaries that could be overstepped, yet somehow, Gaara had created a few. At least in his own mind.

"Shall I... relieve you now," Lee asked, straightening his back and lowering his eyes. His eyelashes sat on his cheeks like ornamental fans from the east. Gaara hummed in appreciation of him. The dimly set light of the room did his shining body justice. He sat coyly. Gaara was reminded of the first time they had met. Though he had been angry, Lee had positioned himself in such a way to be appealing to Gaara. The same could be said now.

"If it so behooves you," Gaara said softly, though his voice was more commanding than he meant it. Lee slid forward on his knees. His body stretched and lengthen like a jaguar's. He undid the prince's sandals. He removed them and slid his hands up Gaara's thighs. His usually sure movements now seemed jerky.

"You seem nervous," Gaara sighed, shuddering as Lee's knuckles brushed against his thigh. He was already very warm. Excitement pooled even more heavily in his gut as his pants came to pile around his ankles. Their removal and his exposure to the cool air reminded him of the relief he had so desired. Lee removed them from his feet and his way up Gaara's ankles and shins.

"I have... never imagined that I would be allowed to touch you like this," Lee said into his thigh. He sucked and licked there, even over the small hairs. Gaara grunted, chest already aching. He knew it would be like this. All of the other concubines sent to him simply did their utmost to survive; trembled with their need for it. Lee touched him with a reverence that was unparalleled. How could he have ever known it would feel good to have anything other than his sexual organ kissed or touched?

"But you _have _imagined touching me," Gaara jested impishly. Lee's face turned a bewitching shade of mauve. Gaara hooked his knee over one muscular shoulder and groaned when Lee licked a stripe up his thigh. His muscles twitched in the cold spot left in its wake.

"Please, let me bear my shame in silence," Lee whispered, leaving a sloppy and wet kiss just to the right of Gaara's sac and manhood. The crown prince shuddered, tensing his leg where it gripped Lee's shoulder. The man's mouth was tactful as it worked it's way across his hips and back to where Gaara wanted it to be.

Gaara did not have to beg or to wait for longer than he thought appropriate. As soon he began to feel the need of a mouth on him, it was there, sliding back and forth over the head of Gaara's untrimmed cock. His descent was tight and slow. Gaara felt all the muscles in his stomach and chest tense. The desire to curl into that pressure was overwhelming. He pressed the toes of his free hanging leg into Lee's thigh, wanting to feel the heat there. He wondered if Lee was excited as well.

"Ngh, good _gods_," Gaara groaned, already feeling his need to release approaching. Lee made sure his tongue knew every part of Gaara's cock. His lips were determined not to allow any relief from the pressure. Gaara watched the man below him. The darkness twitching over his face from the quivering candlelight was intoxicating.

"_Lee_," he warned. Lee moaned around him and moved at a regular pace. Not fast enough for Gaara to feel immediate release, but fast enough for him to know the difference. It was the sight of Lee's flushed cheeks, his strong shoulder muscles working. It was the feel of his thick fingers digging into the tender flesh of his thighs and hips.

Gaara leaned his head back and moaned, long and low. When his orgasm overtook him, it was a new experience. Even though he could feel his own hips trying frantically to receive more gratification, it felt as though his soul had separated from his body. He could feel the tightness in his stomach and sac, the wetness of Lee's mouth, the pressure of his body. Yet somehow, his head was clouded over. He closed his eyes to the onslaught of desire, and the weakening of his body. He made the dazed realization that Lee had not let him go through his orgasm. He had swallowed his essence.

He moaned again when Lee lowered his leg, but didn't move.

"Your majesty? Shall I lay you on the bed to rest?"

"Give me a moment, shan't you? I was unaware you would be so skillful," he said, the only praise he had ever given in his life. He looked up to see Lee looking away quickly, flush apparent on his cheeks.

"Thank you kindly, my liege," he said, moving to fold Gaara's pants. The sovereign peered down and noticed the burgeoning excitement between his thighs. He slid his foot up Lee's leg. A sharp inhalation escaped him, just loud enough for Gaara to hear. He smirked languidly.

"Do you not require a bit of release as well, Lee? You have worked diligently."

"My greatest pleasure is caring for you, your majesty," Lee replied, grabbing his ankle and slipping his shorts back on over it. Gaara frowned. He let Lee dress him in his night clothes slowly and carefully. His body quavered and tingled at the gentle brush of Lee's knuckles and fingers. He watched Lee's face, not a hint of the exercise he'd performed with his mouth present there. Gaara felt at once fulfilled and dissatisfied.

"Prepare yourself," he said softly, "Next time I will not rest until I have you in the throes of ecstasy."

Lee's face was a picture of embarrassed shock. His voice cracked as he replied, "I will bear it in mind."

* * *

Is the language in this confusing?


End file.
